


Look right through me

by DecayingLiberty



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Confession, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, F/M, Gen, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 22:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecayingLiberty/pseuds/DecayingLiberty
Summary: Courfeyrac experiences heartbreak and his friends help (Marius helps, too).





	Look right through me

**Author's Note:**

> This is 5k words of garbage brain dump fic, with uncreative plot and written with the emotional delicacy of a potato because I need validation. Read at your own risk. Comments are still appreciated.:D

Marius, Courfeyrac found, was not someone who smiled often but when he did, it was genuine. His face would turn less severe, less serious and his eyes would be softer. All the worry would disappear from his face and he looked serene and calm even if just for a moment.

So Courfeyrac had taken to making Marius smile as often as possible.

These smiles were still rare and short lived because it was not easy to make this earnest young man smile but Courfeyrac cherished each one of them.

And then, once upon a day, Marius smile changed.

These smiles were wistful and distant, these smile were not carefree but sometimes they were even distorted.

Sometimes, he would be in good spirits for weeks, then in a deep slump, that would not cease days.

“What’s wrong?,” Courfeyrac asked when Marius didn’t seem to pull out of this low soon.

Marius didn’t answer but sighed heavily, staring into the space just next to Courfeyrac’s head. He looked lost.

“Marius?”

“Do you think love at first sight exists?,” Marius asked when Courfeyrac was about to leave him alone.

Something heavy dropped in his gut. Like a his heart suddenly was too heavy to be held up any more, like falling. It was an unpleasant feeling.

“Yeah, I do,” Courfeyrac said because he does.

He can remember that exact day, that exact moment where the world had stopped turning for a few heartbeats. There had been nothing particularly special about that moment and yet when Marius had looked at him, and something had struck him deep in his core and had left him breathless and — yeah, here he was now.

“Then, Courfeyrac, I’m in love.”

Courfeyrac barely managed to keep his face from distorting into a grimace when Marius turned his attentions to the fogged up window again, and stopped himself from making an embarrassing sound that would reveal more than he was willing to admit out loud, clamping his mouth shut so tightly his jaw was hurting. He was immensely grateful that Marius was too occupied with his thoughts to notice. Courfeyrac breathed out slowly.

Calm down, he told himself, calm down.

He couldn’t afford to get distracted with his own feelings right now. Marius needed him as a friend.

And yet, that thought left a bitter taste. Courfeyrac wasn’t stupid when it came to feelings but sometimes he wished he was.

 

* * *

 

One evening, when Courfeyrac was watching some sitcom he knew by heart by now, sprawled all over the cushions with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, and definitely not waiting for Marius, Marius stumbled through door of their flat late at night with hair dishevelled from the winds, cheeks reddened from the cold and eyes shining with a happy, delighted glint that reminded Courfeyrac of an afterglow.

Courfeyrac looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

Marius burst out: “It was fantastic, the first date! Our first date! You were right! I talked to her and then we went out for coffee and to the theatres and, Courfeyrac, thank you!”

He beamed at Courfeyrac, eyes lighting up even more and breathe escaping him in giddy excitement and it was such a rare sight that Courfeyrac wanted to hold this moment, to capture it forever, every crinkle and every little thing that Marius’ face did when he was smiling like that. There was something utterly enchanting in seeing this earnest young man be so carefree and Courfeyrac found himself wishing to be the reason for Marius’ bliss, and, God damn, Courfeyrac had tried.

Watching Marius and having his thought inevitably turn dark and heavy, something in Courfeyrac felt like falling apart. His heavy heart wasn’t so much heavy any more. It was missing pieces, losing them one after another. He pushed the feeling aside, buried it beneath the many layers of mindless thoughts, like counting down from fifty backwards, telling himself that if he didn’t think then he couldn’t feel.

He returned Marius’ smile and said: “That’s great! When will you meet her again?”

“Tomorrow actually... Today was amazing, so we thought...” Marius pushed his hand through his hair and smiled shyly.

“I’m happy for you,” Courfeyrac said. His voice might have cracked but he could always say it was the popcorn that made his throat sore and his mouth dry.

“Really? Thank you!”

“Tell me about it,” Courfeyrac  through another handful of popcorn he had stuffed in his mouth and a rather convincing smile he was pathetically proud of.

Marius laughed, and made himself comfortable directly next to Courfeyrac, recounted his date in details, rambling on about Cosette: her beauty, her patience, her wildness, her energy and anything that came to mind. Courfeyrac kept his smile throughout, even though when Marius had excused himself to bed, his cheeks hurt and he felt like the air had been strangled out of him.

In his room he put on headphones, turned the music loud enough to give the his sweet old neighbours a heart attack and slept to the sound of angry screams and harsh guitars, drowning out Marius’ soft laughs as he talked to Cosette on the phone in the next room.

 

* * *

 

When Marius brought Cosette to the meeting, hands intertwined and looks full of tender mutual admiration, they sat across from where Courfeyrac was standing and presenting his results of the week. It was a routine update, easily explained, easily done. Get everyone’s input, discuss the problem that occurred, ask for new volunteers, set a new time and place for meeting up to work on the project. Courfeyrac had done this many times and yet, today, it seemed much harder to focus.

It was nothing unusual now for new people to come. Everyone was welcome, and Courfeyrac tried to welcome her, tried to be glad that a new face was appearing at the meeting, he really did but her presence set him on edge and made him squirm in his own skin. He knows exactly what this feeling was, he was not stupid, and yet he couldn’t quite quell the ice spreading in the pit of his stomach.

Keeping his calm was harder than ever, but he managed somehow by avoiding them, by not looking at them and their hands and their smiles. He had to keep his composure because what good would he be at keeping the people together if he couldn’t even keep himself together.

Courfeyrac lost his thoughts when Marius finally caught his gaze and beamed at him. It was a moment too short for anyone but Combeferre and Enjolras to notice but he smiled back nonetheless because Marius’ smile was infectious. When Marius looked away, Courfeyrac’s face crumbles into a grimace.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. These feelings were wrong. He should be happy for them. He should be a good friend.

Courfeyrac rubs his eyes impatiently to lessen the pressure behind them.

  
When the meeting ended they caught him at the threshold to the door. Marius introduced them excitedly and they made pleasant conversation. And with that, Courfeyrac’s plan to quietly leave the meeting without being suspicious was overthrown, so he stayed and smiled, even though it was hard to breathe. Cosette was lovely, fierce and intelligent all the same and Courfeyrac couldn’t blame Marius for falling for her.

When Courfeyrac went to sleep that night, a blanket pulled over his head, he wished that Cosette was a despicable person and hated himself for it.

 

* * *

 

“You need to talk about that,” Combeferre said one day when Courfeyrac had fled from a flat seemed too suffocating for him to stay.

“About what?,” Courfeyrac asks and continues to coo at Combeferre’s new tiny kitten. She coiled around his arm, rolled to expose her belly, little paws grasping at his fingers to keep them petting her fur, and Courfeyrac didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he did when he was in his flat any more.

“You know,” Combeferre said and sighed when Courfeyrac didn’t do as much as looking up, “Marius.”

Courfeyrac froze for a moment, then immediately blocked everything off. He focused on the kitten on his lap, the warmth and comfort of Combeferre’s flat and he didn’t feel like he was torn apart. It was nice and he didn’t want to give this up yet, even if he knew that he couldn’t stay her forever.

“Ah, yes,” Courfeyrac said. “Marius Pontmercy. My room-mate. Twenty-three years of age. Majoring in Linguistics.”

The kitten tried to claw her way up on Courfeyrac’s chest. He picked her up and held her close instead, carefully cradling her in his arms. She snuggled her head into the nook just under his jawline and purred.

“You know what I mean,” Combeferre said.

“I really don’t.”

The kitten struggled in his hold and Courfeyrac lifted her up to his face to press a soft kiss to her head. She then licked his nose in return. It tickled and he giggled.

“Courfeyrac.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Are you sure?”

“It won’t change anything,” Courfeyrac said and gently passed the kitten to Combeferre before he grabbed his coat and fled again.

He felt Combeferre’s stare on him as he climbed down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Courfeyrac was barely awake when he stumbled over a box lying on his way to the kitchen.

“What the —”

Marius immediately stuck his head through the bathroom door, a worried frown gracing his face that was red from exertion. He held some towels and a tooth brush in his hand which he promptly threw into the next open bag and walked with long strides over to Courfeyrac.

“Are you okay?,” Marius asked.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said and yawned. “What’s all that about?”

Marius beamed at him. “I’m moving out!,” he exclaimed before he went to packing the boxes again.

It took him a while, because he was not quite awake enough to properly process what Marius had said. The words didn’t make sense to him.

“Huh?,” was his eloquent comment.

“I’m moving out,” Marius repeated. “Cosette and I finally found a flat that suits us both. I’ll be out of your hair by the end of the day.”

Courfeyrac looked at the mess around the living-room while it slowly settled on him. Marius was moving out. That meant, Marius was leaving the flat. Courfeyrac felt numb as he stared at the other bags. There weren’t many, three maybe, because Marius didn’t have many possessions to begin with but the bags seemed to hold much more than what they actually did. He looked back at Marius, opened his mouth to say something and closed it again.

“Courf?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. He felt shaky and weak. Don’t think, he told himself.

“Need help?,” he asked instead.

“Sure!”

 

* * *

 

It’s been almost a week since Marius moved out and he has not broken down yet. Actually, he didn’t think much about it and had been distracting himself with parties and one-night-stands, so that when he finally found his way back to his own bed he was too tired to think about how silent and empty the flat was.

The late nights were taking a toll on his body and it showed. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was sore most of the time. Courfeyrac felt his friends’ worry like a constant reminder on the back of his neck but tried his best to ignore them. As long as he pretended to be fine, he would be.

He stumbled through the door of the back room of the Musain exactly a week after Marius left, fifteen minutes before the official start even if he was supposed to be there half an hour ago, hair and clothes dishevelled, with a few numbers scrawled in marker on his arm and and several almost bleeding angry red and purple love bites on his neck. He blinked against the brightness of the room, having just left a nearby dimly lit bar and still feeling warm from the tequila shots in his system.

He tried to say “Hello” but his mouth wouldn’t listen to him, doing funny things he didn’t want it to do, so he settled for a cheerful “Hi!” instead.

The room had gone silent and those who were already there stared at Courfeyrac with wide eyes. It was very strange. He checked his phone again to make sure that he wasn’t late.

Was it his clothes? He did his best to match them this evening. Courfeyrac looked down on himself but found nothing out of the ordinary so he looked back up again.

“What’s wrong?,” he asked. His mouth still didn’t cooperate but at least, they seemed to get what he was trying to say. Courfeyrac counted it as a success.

Joly broke the silence.

“Are you— are you drunk?!”

“No!,” Courfeyrac said and blinked to focus. “Maybe,” he conceded.

Maybe he was a little bit drunk, so what? It’s not like he’d never been drunk before.

“Courf, it’s barely seven,” someone said and it sounded very sad.

Courfeyrac didn’t want anyone to be sad, so he told them: “It’s okay! Don’t be sad!”

No one answered him this time. The room has been plunged into a heavy silence.

“That’s it,” Enjolras said, striding through the tables to Courfeyrac, and grabbed his arm to pull him into a nearby chair. Courfeyrac winced. “Combeferre asked us not to intervene but this is going too far,” Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac tried to get up, but a hand on his shoulder pushed him down again. He looked up. It was Combeferre.

Joly was there, too, and Joly handed him a glass of water. Joly was nicer than Enjolras and Combeferre, Courfeyrac decided, because Joly didn’t force him to sit. He gave Joly a bright smile that Joly didn’t return and Joly always returned his smiles. Weird. Courfeyrac frowned and tried to stand up again.

"Bahorel, tell Louison that the meeting is cancelled,” Combeferre said.

Bahorel saluted in acknowledgement and sauntered out of the room.

“Have you been sleeping lately?” Joly asked, when Bahorel has left

“Lots and lots!”

“Really?”

“I have slept with everyone!”

“What?” Joly didn’t wait for him to answer and continued, “When?”

“Before I came here!” he said cheerfully and pointed at the numbers on his arm. “They even gave me their numbers!”

“Were you safe?”

“I’m still alive.”

“This isn’t the time for a joke.”

“But I can move and talk. See?” He stood up and almost went down again when is vision blacked out for a second. He landed in Combeferre’s colourfully tattooed arms. They were pretty and Courfeyrac almost forgot that he was having a conversation if it wasn’t for Combeferre helping him stand again. The colourful arms disappeared from his sight and he was being placed in the seat again, this time, by Joly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Joly said. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let me at least check your neck.”

“Not important!,” Courfeyrac interrupted him, “I had fun today!”

“I’m sure you did,” Combeferre said. He was angry.

Courfeyrac didn’t like this. Joly’s hands were around him and he wanted them to be gone. They were wrong. They were trapping somehow. He leaned away.

“Courf, hold still,” Joly said as his fingers prodded at Courfeyrac’s neck.

“But, Jolllly,” he said, “I donwanna.”

“I know, sit still for just a moment, okay? Let me clean these lest they get infected...”

“Joly!” Courfeyrac squirmed away from him. “Don’t do this.” At least that what he wanted to say, he wasn’t sure if his mouth did what he told it to do because Joly was still there and Courfeyrac was filthy and tired and he didn’t want Joly to be touching him, because Courfeyrac was irritated and a bad friend and it’s all wrong.

“No, stop,” he tried again. But Joly’s hands were still there and why don’t they stop? “Joly, no, no. No, don’t touch me.” There was a slap. It echoed through the room and Courfeyrac found that his hand was burning.

“Christ, Courfeyrac,” Joly said, and rubbed his cheek.

Combeferre and Joly exchanged a look then turned to Courfeyrac again. Before either of them could say anything else, Enjolras pushed them aside and pushed Courfeyrac against the next wall.

It hurt. Courfeyrac’s sore muscles and joints ached. He winced and by the looks of it Enjolras knew. Courfeyrac figured that he probably deserved that.

“Stop it,” Enjolras said. His voice had the quality of ice. “This isn’t ‘having fun’ any more. It’s self-destruction.”

“Talk to us,” Combeferre said.

The alcohol was slowly leaving his system with Enjolras’ anger being oddly sobering, Courfeyrac’s mind was defogging, his headache increasing. The uneven wall dug into his back, his neck ached and he felt sore all over. In the face of Enjolras’ piercing gaze, Joly’s worried frown and Combeferre’s infuriatingly calm disapproval, his façade shattered like glass. With unwelcome clarity he remembered why he drank in the first place. He lifted head to stare at the ceiling in order to keep in the tears threatening to escape from behind his eyelids, trying to cling to the last scraps of blissful denial that the tequila shots had brought him. It didn’t work.

“I ...,” Courfeyrac started but the words died on his tongue. He realized how dry his throat was.

Joly gently pulled Enjolras away from him, put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay to cry,” Joly said

And just like that, the tension that coiled in him unravelled like a pulled string. Emotion and overwhelming exhaustion flooded him and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Joly’s shoulder. There were thoughts in his head, each one louder than another, swirling, twisting, dissipating; there were fears and hopes and wishes and Courfeyrac wanted to press his hands against his ears just to make them stop.

A hand in his hair softly carded through his curls, another calming warm hand drew soothing patterns on his back. In that moment, Courfeyrac felt very small, so very vulnerable despite him being taller than Joly. He wasn’t crying, not yet — he was still just barely holding on and he knew that if he wanted to keep his composure he needed to leave. He took a shaky breath, untangled himself from Joly, rubbed his burning eyes and put on a smile that was almost convincing,

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac said. His voice was rough and strained from the lump in his throat. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Courf?”

“I’m all right now,” he said as he headed for the door. It took all his control not to run, not to look like he was fleeing the scene with weakened his limbs that wouldn’t obey him. His sudden movement caused the blood to buzz in his ear like a swarm of agitated wasps but he kept going nonetheless. A few more steps, he told himself, a few more steps until the door. The door knob was heavenly cool under his touch, giving him a short lived relief from all the tension and buzzing in his body, and yet it took all his strength to twist it open. His first attempt failed. His hand slipped from the smooth surface of the knob and he stumbled over but caught himself with his other hand which collided loudly on the door’s wooden surface.

There was silence in the room, the only sound he could hear was the blood rushing in his ear and his heavy breathing. Maybe someone said something, maybe it was some sleep-deprived auditory hallucination. Courfeyrac took another breath, pushed himself upright and tried to open the door. This time, the knob turned in his hands like he wished and he pulled the door open. There was someone coming through the dimly lit corridor, the steps echoing loud in his aching head.

Courfeyrac didn’t dare lifting his head. The light bulbs glared down at him and they strained his sensitive eyes even in his peripheral vision. He clung to the door as it was one of the only things that kept him standing at the moment, the other were some scraps of willpower that had remained. The steps in the corridor got louder the more they approached, each sound magnified and dulled at the same time, in perfect sync with his uneven heartbeat. Then they stopped. The first thing he noticed were a pair of old but well cared for shoes which were accompanied by another pair of pretty pastel ballerinas. They looked very familiar.

“Courfeyrac?”

His heart leapt painfully in his chest. He knew that voice. He would know that voice anywhere. Softness and concern mixed into an unique sound that unmistakably belonged to one person only, someone very dear to him. and as circumstances had it, someone he’d been avoiding for the past days.

Courfeyrac looked up at Marius’ concerned face and with little to no effort he grinned. It was an automatic response, like dominoes falling or a fire spreading.

Courfeyrac let go of the door and took a few steps towards him, he stumbled a little and immediately there were hands on his arms to steady him. His grin widened.

“Marius,” he said but it was barely above a hoarse slurred whisper.

“What happened to you?”

Before Courfeyrac could answer, the world turned. The last things he noticed were warm hands that caught him and the soft voice calling his name. Then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

He woke up to grey light and one of the worst headaches he ever experienced. Something warm and comfortable was wrapped around him and instantly, Courfeyrac felt wrong. The duvet was to heavy, too familiar and too calming — it was that kind of calm he didn’t dare let himself settle into. A kind soul had drawn the curtains, leaving just enough light to clearly make out the shapes of the furniture but not enough to define their exact shades. Courfeyrac lifted his eyes to the ceiling and stared at the strangely muted colours, wondering hat it must look like in broad day light. It’s not like he had not forgotten how his apartment looked like, but lately he had been out so often that he couldn’t recall its exact vibrancy.

Courfeyrac turned in an attempt to lessen the pounding headache. It didn’t work and he stopped immediately when he felt something warm and solid against his arm. In a second he was alert and the sensations in his mouth felt like he swallowed sand. His throat was searing.

the solid weight against his arm shifted. He turned and was greeted by the side of a sleepy  and dishevelled Marius Pontmercy kneeling at his side, head resting on the arms on the bed and rising from his slumber. And it was not cute, he told himself, even though he wanted to run his hand through the dishevelled hair. Marius yawned and Courfeyrac’s heart sped up which was... not helpful.

“Courf?,” Marius mumbled.

Courfeyrac opened his mouth but instead of words only a hoarse croak escaped it which seemed to increase burn in his throat. Marius handed him a glass of water but his hands were so weak and shaking so much that he didn’t dare pulling it from Marius’ hands.

“Here,” Marius said and clasped his hands over Courfeyrac’s to help him which brought them closer than Courfeyrac had anticipated.

Marius radiated warmth and the scent of his cologne filled the immediate air around them. Courfeyrac held his breath in the hope that it will will distract him from thinking, because it was so familiar and it reminded him of — no, no thinking.

“You need to drink,” Marius said. His hands were warm on Courfeyrac’s which, as he now noticed feel icy in comparison. Marius was careful, gentle as ever as he guided the glass and Courfeyrac wanted to cry but he forced himself not to. At least, he had to keep it together until there was no one around to see.

“What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac asked as Marius placed the glass back onto the night stand.

“Looking after you?”

“Why?”

“Uhm... well, Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly have left for Lyon for that big protest, Bossuet is picking up the new flyers and stickers, Combeferre and Enjolras are catching up with the project groups and —”

“And what about you?” Courfeyrac interrupts him, “Don’t you have things to do today?”

Marius shrugged. “I’m here now.”

This wasn’t the answer that Courfeyrac wanted. This wasn’t the answer he was looking for. He didn’t want Marius to be here (that was a lie, he absolutely wanted Marius to stay, to be close, he wanted to lay his head on his chest and have his heartbeat lull him to sleep he wanted —), he didn’t want Marius to be here when all his emotions and all his thoughts would come back once his mind is cleared from fog, when all the suppressed feelings of the last week, no, months, would come back with a vengeance and inevitably spill over in sobs and words and tears.

It was a selfish thought.

He wanted Marius to be angry at him for being a bad friend, he wanted Marius to leave him be as he deserved because he hadn’t been there for Marius in the last days, hadn’t even think of him. And yet Marius was here, sitting at his bedside and looking after him. Courfeyrac didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Marius.

Marius was too good.

Marius needed to go.

If he stayed any longer, Courfeyrac would cry and he couldn’t bear it.

Courfeyrac let himself fall back onto the pillows. “Marius,” he said. “Please, leave.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ve heard me.”

“What’s wrong? Tell me.” Marius stood up and leaned down, trying to check on him, but Courfeyrac turned himself away and puled the blankets over his head. Childish. Childish. Childish.

He doesn’t have any brain left to  make excuses, and he is sick of excuses. He wants to be far away from this place, this apartment that seemed so cold despite Marius being here. All the empty spaces that he had left, his presence alone couldn’t fill them.

“Courfeyrac, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t want to talk, not to Marius, especially not to Marius. He couldn’t. If he did all his feelings would spill over and what little was left of their friendship would be gone. If Courfeyrac had the choice between a broken friendship or nothing at all, then there wasn’t really a choice.

“Just, just go.”

“No, talk to me! You have been acting strange theses past months. You disappeared for a week and then I see you again and you’re so drunk you can barely stand upright. Are you angry? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I’m all right!”

“This is not ‘all right’. Was it something I did?”

“This is not something you did.”

“Then what is it?

“You, you won’t understand.”

“Try me.” Marius had leaned in as the conversation progressed, eyes gleaming hard and determined, and Courfeyrac knew he wouldn’t budge until he got his answers. He was stubborn like that and if Marius wouldn’t leave out of his own volitions, Courfeyrac would make him leave. He just had to think of how.

And then he was acting on pure impulse when he reached for Marius’ head, soft dark strands tangling in his grip, and pulled him down into a kiss.

There was no resistance.

For a while, the world was blissful. For a short while Courfeyrac could pretend btu that moment didn’t last long and as Courfeyrac’s brain caught up to what they were doing, to what Courfeyrac was doing to Marius, he pulled away, so abruptly and suddenly as if he had been burned. In a way, he was. His heart seared with guilt and regret.

“Marius — I, I’m sorry!”

Marius had stumbled backwards, eyes wide staring at him in shock, and for a long while, no one said anything but then Marius got to his feet and left without another word.

The shutting door plunged the apartment in complete silence.

Courfeyrac let himself fall onto the bed again, pulled the blankets over his head and clenched his jaw so tightly together that his teeth hurt to keep himself from sobbing.

He should be relieved now.

After all, he got what he wanted.

Didn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Bossuet pulled the blanket down under which Courfeyrac had buried himself away from the world when the sun had left its peak in the sky for a while now. He didn’t have any energy left to resist, he let it happen, didn’t protest when Bossuet dried his damp cheeks with a soft paper tissue.

“What have you gotten into this time?” Bossuet said gently.

It wasn’t a reprimand. Bossuet never reprimanded him but still, it was hard to look at him. It was hard to let himself be seen like this and with any other, Courfeyrac would have resisted and would have hid himself further but Bossuet had seen him in worse times. That was the thing about being cousins he supposed.

Still, it was hard to think and hard to breathe because if he thought, then he would be sobbing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Courfeyrac shook his head.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Marius...” Courfeyrac brought out with great effort. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe with sobs clogging up your chest.

“Oh, Courfeyrac.”

Bossuet didn’t say anything else on that.

A few moments later, Courfeyrac was seated in the living room, clean and with fresh comfortable clothes as Bossuet handed him a glass of water and a bowl of food.

“I figured your fridge would be empty.”

“Thanks.”

Courfeyrac ate in silence. The TV was on low volume with some animation that he wasn’t much invested in and Bossuet sat next to him and chattered about everything that came to his mind.

It was good to not have to think while he focused on Bossuet’s stories about different mishappenings, how the printer was out of ink today, how he picked Courfeyrac’s lock to get into the apartment when Courfeyrac didn’t open (which was worrying but Courfeyrac filed that away for later).

When the sun started to set and the dishes were done, Bossuet said: “Maybe talking to Marius would help, you know?” and left.

Courfeyrac was alone with his thoughts again.

 

* * *

 

The room was dark when the front door opened, the creak of old hinges and dangle of keys disturbing the constant buzz of electronics that were still running despite not having been used for — well, Courfeyrac didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the scratchy carpet and staring a virus blue screen but it must have been long enough for his eyes to burn and his nose, fingers and to turn cold. Courfeyrac didn’t bother looking up when someone entered but kept staring at the blue TV screen. He didn’t want to move at all because if he did, he’d break and there was only one person who currently had the spare key to his apartment and he last thing he wanted was for Marius to see him break.

Marius didn’t say anything. Instead he disappeared into his— the spare room to return with a baby blue blanket that he wrapped around Courfeyrac shoulders. The blanket still smelled like him, some cologne and something that was inherently Marius and if Marius noticed that Courfeyrac clung to it tighter than necessary, he didn’t say anything. Marius carefully sat down next to to him, so close that their shoulders almost touched and took the remote to turn the TV off. The room was plunged into darkness. A soft dim orange glow emitted from the street lamps fell through the lace curtains, throwing patterns onto the wall, illuminating their silhouettes, eyes shining with the reflection of it.

Courfeyrac turned to Marius slowly but this time it was him who had his eyes resolutely fixed ahead, with knees pulled to his chin, like Courfeyrac, but his hands are tightly clasped on his shins to keep himself from fidgeting so much. Courfeyrac ceased his stare and let silence settled on the room. It was too heavy, so thick that he thought he might suffocate.

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac said into the silence. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“No, I should apologize,” Marius said. “I’m sorry for running away.”

“You had every right to.”

“It still wasn’t very nice of me.”

Courfeyrac huffed. “Marius, after this week, you have every excuse to not be nice to me.”

"I know", Marius said quietly.

There was a loaded silence, full of unsaid words and what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, the only sound the ticking of the old clock by Courfeyrac’s window sill and he pondered the days that have passed since the moment they first met. So much has happened. So many thing that were out of his control.

"Do you sometimes wonder", Courfeyrac asked slowly, "where we would be now if our circumstance would be different?"

"I do", Marius said.

"And,” Courfeyrac continued, “would you, if you could?"

It was an useless question, it wouldn’t change anything but Courfeyrac needed to know even though he might not know the answer.

Marius thought for a while. then he nodded. “Yeah.”

Courfeyrac laughed a breathless humourless laugh. “What a mess,” he said.

“What a mess,” Marius agreed.

The TV remained dark and empty, reflecting only them both, huddled together on the floor. Courfeyrac was still tired, still hurting but he felt a bit better now. Marius presence wasn’t exactly soothing his heart but it helped nonetheless. Marius was still an important friend.

The silence made him sleepy again. The exhaustion of today’s emotions caught up to him, made him yawn and his eyelids heavy. He could fall asleep right here; Marius was warm next to him and even though the floor wasn’t as soft as his mattress, he was so tired he didn’t care.

But he didn’t want to sleep just yet. He wanted to enjoy this silence for a while, to savour this moment for just a bit longer.

Courfeyrac had missed this. Moments like this with just the two of them.

Comfortable and warm and safe.

Courfeyrac closed his eyes. He could stay here forever.

And maybe one day, all would be okay again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! (it's okay if not!)
> 
> Yell at me on my [ tumblr!](https://decayingliberty.tumblr.com)


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